


Secret

by Adenil



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BDSM, Blow Jobs, Face-Fucking, Forced Orgasm, Fucking Machines, M/M, Smut, more like a sucking machine?, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 04:45:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4550979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adenil/pseuds/Adenil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce builds a machine and of course has to try it out on Clint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this tumblr prompt: Hulkeye “What was that? You don’t think you can cum again? I’m going to show you that you can.”

Bruce keeps many secrets. Here are two of them.

The first secret is his love for technology. He’s built things that can rival Tony’s gadgets. The ipod his pocket, for example, is actually a powerful microcomputer that he only doesn’t use on JARVIS because he’s too nice. He loves to tinker with metal and wire. It’s soothing.

The second secret is that the reason he doesn’t use the office adjacent to the lab Tony gave him is because it’s usually occupied.

Bruce stretches and glances at his watch. Twin heartbeats light up the interface. There’s his–calm, steady–and then there’s a second–wild, erratic, desperate. He smiles to himself and scratches at his stomach. It’s been about an hour. Perhaps it’s time to check in?

He steps away from his work station and heads for the closed door of his office. Already he’s anticipating what he’ll find. He slips his glasses out of his pocket and onto his nose, humming to himself. 

When he opens the door he smiles.

The smell hits him first. The pungent scent of arousal and sweat, and Bruce can see moisture pooling at the dip between Clint’s collarbone. Clint practically glows as he twists and turns, trying desperately to gyrate his hips into the machine that holds them still.

Clint whines behind his gag as Bruce steps forward and checks on his machine. It still works perfectly, of course. It wraps around Clint’s front, enveloping his cock with a series of (brilliantly designed, if Bruce does say so himself) liquid-soft nubs, endlessly rippling over Clint’s flesh. Stroking and sliding, and emitting the most soft sucking sound imaginable. As Bruce runs his hands over the gleaming metal Clint sobs in desperation.

“How is it?” Bruce asks. Clint can only moan in response.

Bruce runs his hands over the interface of the machine, turning it up slightly. The sound grows louder, like water sloshing in a glass. Clint keens and half-collapses over the machine, arms twisting behind him as he fights against the cuffs.

“That good, hmm?” Bruce takes a second to check the cuffs. There’s no discoloration, but he likes the way Clint’s fingers twitch with pleasure. 

Clint’s breathing is rapidly quickening. Bruce watches his shoulders rise and fall as he struggles against the pleasure he can’t escape. Smoothly, Bruce runs his hands down Clint’s back and it’s enough to make Clint cry out, his orgasm swift approaching. He’s maybe two seconds away, one…

The machine stops.

Clint screams and his hips roll forward minutely. His desperation makes him choke on the gag as he pleads without words to please _, please_  come this time.

“So the first test is a success, then?” Bruce asks conversationally. His machine must sense that Clint calmed down enough, as it begins to suck again. Clint writhes against it and under Bruce’s hands, and Bruce shivers in delight. “Do you want to come, baby?”

Clint sobs, nodding furiously.

Bruce rubs a hand against himself, thinking. “Soon, I think. But I need to come first.”

Clint nods again, and turns his head enough to beg with his eyes. Bruce can’t really say no to that.

Bruce slides open his fly and steps in front of Clint. There’s just enough room at the front of his machine for Clint’s head to hang over the side. With one hand, Bruce strokes himself, watching the way Clint’s eyes follow his movements. With the other hand, he slips the gag from Clint’s mouth.

Clint doesn’t get a chance to speak. Not that he would have taken it. He opens his mouth wide as soon as the gag is gone and Bruce gifts him his cock, sliding it between those pretty lips. Clint struggles to take more of him in, but Bruce takes it slow. He fists his hand in Clint’s hair and listens to the twin chorus of Clint struggling to swallow him as the machine ripples over his cock.

“Oh, that’s perfect,” Bruce breathes, reveling in Clint’s frantic sounds.

He begins to rock his hips, gradually taking more and more of Clint’s mouth as his own. Clint’s hands are in fists, and the muscles all along his back are jumping with the strain of trying to get closer, more,  _closer_. Bruce sighs as the warmth of Clint’s mouth envelops him, and moans in tandem with Clint’s hum of delight.

“Can you open up your throat for me, baby?” Bruce asks. Clint can’t nod, but he looks up to Bruce with adoration and desire, which is all the answer Bruce needs. He pushes forward until he can feel the flutter of Clint’s throat hot and constricting against the head of his cock, and he has to pause.

Clint is swallowing constantly now, and it seems his mouth is watering just from the presence of Bruce’s cock. Bruce rolls his hips against Clint’s throat bit by bit as Clint sputters and chokes and writhes for more and then, “Ah!” Bruce groans as he slides deep, deep into Clint’s throat. Clint’s nose brushes against the button of Bruce’s shirt, and Clint shudders as Bruce slides slowly out again.

“Good,” Bruce praises. He can’t resist that perfect throat any longer, and he rams back in. Clint’s entire body jumps and he lets out a muffled moan. “Mm, Clint, you’re  _so_  good.”

He sets a steady pace as Clint twists beneath him, catching little breaths when he can. The machine seems to hum its approval. Bruce has to bite his lip–gently–to keep in all the words he wants to say. He lets a few out, words like, “Good,” and, “Baby, so perfect,” and, “Your mouth was made for this.”

Clint’s eyes roll back in his head and his hips twitch forward again and again, incremental against the machine. Bruce can’t take his eyes off Clint’s face, smeared now with spit and Bruce’s precome as he takes Clint fast, fast. Clint’s body is his in that moment and Clint seems to realize it because suddenly his body spasms, and the machine cuts out too late.

Bruce is buried in Clint’s throat when Clint comes.

The machine lets out a sad beep and Bruce grabs the back of Clint’s head, holding him still as he shudders through the aftershocks. Clint is choking around him, but his eyes are still so  _trusting_.

“Did I say you could do that?” Bruce asks, although Clint has no way of answering. Clint still makes a choked sound, and his face turns a pleasant pink. “I suppose you think you’re done now, hm?”

Clint makes a noise that could be a no, could be a yes, who knows? Bruce leans down and yanks hard on Clint’s hair. “What was that?” he asks, keeping his voice level and fighting against the desire that threatens to creep in. “You don’t think you come again? I’m going to show you that you can.”

He pulls out of Clint in one smooth motion, leaving Clint’s mouth with a wet  _pop_  and a trail of precome and spit that hangs on tenaciously before finally breaking. He feels cold outside of Clint, but he gently rubs the back of Clint’s neck as Clint coughs and struggles to catch his breath.

“Tell me,” Bruce demands mildly once Clint is breathing steady again.

“I-I’m sorry, Bruce,” Clint says instantly. His eyes are downcast. “I didn’t mean to–I just got over-excited.”

Bruce hums. He drops his grip on Clint and presses a button on the front of the machine. A drawer pops open to expose the inner mechanism, filled with lube, and Bruce gathers up a handful before closing it again. Instantly, the machine resets itself and gentle swishing sounds fill the office.

Clint full-body winces. “Oh, Bruce, no, no. I don’t think I can–”

“I think you can,” Bruce says. He skirts around to Clint’s ass, artfully exposed. That’s the real beauty of this machine, truly. Only Clint’s cock is contained in endless, pleasurable torture. His ass is free for Bruce to play with. Bruce spreads Clint’s cheeks apart and rests the tip of one lubed finger against his hole. “Won’t you? For me?” 

“I, I don’t know?” Clint tries to stand, but his legs seem to give out beneath him. His calves are twitching with strain, and his hair is matted to his forehead. “Maybe?”

“I know you can,” Bruce insists, and he slides one long finger inside.

Clint shivers at the intrusion, but doesn’t hesitate to open beneath Bruce. His body is so willing and ready that Bruce wastes no time in finding Clint’s prostrate. He curls his finger around the gland and rubs, light as a feather at first, but gradually rougher, harder, as Clint fights to roll back into the touch and forward into the machine.

“Mm, you’re so good for me,” Bruce praises.

Clint lets out a sob. “Bruce, i-it’s a lot. Can you– _Jesus_ –just, ah, just softer?”

Bruce keeps his pace steady. “I want to see you come, Clint.” His eyes trace a thin bead of sweat trailing between Clint’s shoulder blades. He can’t resist; he leans forward and laps it up, tracing patterns with his tongue.

Clint shouts and snaps his mouth together with a sharp  _clack_ of teeth. “I-I want to come for you, Bruce.”

“I know you do, baby.”

Bruce slides another finger inside and reaches around to flick a button on the machine. It makes a delighted hum and wastes no time helping him pleasure Clint. He rocks his fingers against Clint’s prostate and digs his other hand into Clint’s hip as Clint squeezes around him.

“Come on, baby,” Bruce encourages him. “Come for me?”

This time, the machine doesn’t stop as Clint’s pleasure builds. It whirs and sucks and Bruce fucks Clint with his fingers until Clint’s entire body tenses. Clint’s mouth opens in a wordless shout, and his eyes screw shut as his body trembles beneath Bruce.

The machine slows to a stop as Clint pants. Slowly, Bruce withdraws his fingers.

Clint is boneless now, completely collapsed against the machine. His eyes aren’t even open. Bruce takes his face in one hand and shakes him a little.

“Did you pass out?”

Clint nods, and Bruce laughs.

Bruce carefully flips open the machine and pulls Clint’s spent cock from the opening. There’s no come–easy cleaning, another feature. Bruce takes Clint’s limp cock in his hand and Clint whimpers. But Bruce merely protects it as he lays Clint back on the machine, this time only using it as a rest as he spreads Clint’s legs.

Bruce’s own cock has gone limp with neglect, but it doesn’t take long for him to coax it back to attention. The sight of Clint, sated and breathing steady as he rests against the machine, is plenty arousing enough.

He parts Clint’s cheeks again and presses the tip of his cock against his hole. Clint sighs and his back arches nicely as Bruce slides in, one smooth movement, taking Clint’s willing body.

He fucks Clint gently against the machine, just pleasuring himself on Clint’s body. His hips roll and he curls around Clint, protective. Gradually, Clint wakes enough to start tightening his muscles around Bruce’s cock, and that makes Bruce’s eyelashes flutter in delight. 

“So good,” Bruce whispers against the back of Clint’s neck. “So good for me.”

“Jus’ for you,” Clint slurs back.

When he comes, it’s like a gentle unfurling, a culmination of events as Clint lets Bruce mark him deep inside. Bruce has to catch his breath then, taking his time before pulling out and catching Clint before he can fall.

He helps Clint to the easy chair in the corner–he really needs to get a bed in here–and wraps him in a soft blanket. Clint’s sweat has dried now, and Bruce brushes his hair away from his eyes. “How are you doing?” he asks softly.

Clint smiles at him and reaches out from under the blanket, weakly pulling Bruce into a hug. Bruce has to half-climb onto Clint’s lap to fit them both in the chair. “Rea’ly good,” Clint mumbles against his shoulder.

Bruce smiles and trails his fingers through Clint’s hair. “Good,” he says, and he carefully lays a kiss on Clint’s temple.


End file.
